


a time for wolves

by manbunjon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 21:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manbunjon/pseuds/manbunjon
Summary: “Sansa.” he said. His voice was gravelly and deep, and there was a warning in his tone that made her stomach tighten. Her hands lifted as she ran her fingers through his hair, her fingers winding through his dark curls and scraping gently against his scalp as she lifted his head to look over her. “You ought to be sleeping.”She could feel the whisper of his hand at her back as he reached for her before pulling away, his eyes blinking closed in peace as she brushed her fingers fondly across his cheek. “I couldn't possibly." she countered. "I’m much too awake.”





	a time for wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annarosym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annarosym/gifts).



> Happy Christmas to my jonsa secret santa [annarosym](http://annarosym.tumblr.com). Thank you for being such a lovely sport and I'm so sorry for this terribly long wait! I hope you enjoyed it <3

I

Jon had known her without even a word. She had made it passed his guards without word, for it was not uncommon to spend their nights together, and the moment she enters the Lord’s tent behind him, he had practically been able to smell her. 

He turned to face her, finding her cheeks had still been reddened from the few moments they had spent together in the woods. The charged moment, when he had stopped her from walking off, his hands lingering just a moment too long laid upon her hips, and his breath had become ragged as he looked down into her face where she had turned to look at him. 

Her skin had been warm as a breath of summer air, even through her gown and its layers of wool and lambskin, and he had wanted desperately to touch it. He had leaned forward, free from the constraint that constantly plagued him, and found his lips had pressed to the shallow of her throat. 

Her bare skin was warm enough to house wildfire, the way her body sagged back against his with complete ease, knowing he would support her weight. Jon had felt her pulse against his lips and for one terrible moment the urge to bite down just there had nearly overcome him, and before he could act upon his darkest desires he had pushed her away. 

Another charged moment had slashed through them. Sansa, her face having fallen, the hurt written across her features as she stared back at him, her hand having risen to touch the spot of wet warmth his lips had left upon her neck; Jon, his teeth clenched so tightly together that he had barely been able to beat a hasty retreat before turning on his heel and fleeing her sybaritic company. 

Jon had returned to his tent and in a fit of anger, had swept the contents of his desk onto the floor, spattering inkwells, rumbling parchment, and smashing the glass paperweight upon his letters with a crash. His temper subsided with a few moments and a few gulps of the Dornish wine that sat upon his table and even with its spices and sugars he can still only taste her heady flavour of her skin. 

Outside the Lord’s tent the wind howled as it passed through the leafless trees, the whistle of the Old Gods curving through the campground as it began to snow, ice raining down from the darkened sky above. The sun had long ago set and the waning moon bathed the path leading toward the camp in a silvery light, the night so silent that Sansa could barely hear the crunching of snow beneath her boots.

She clutched her cloak tighter around her shoulders and fumbled with the laces, stopping to do them up before running her fingers through Ghost’s fur. The direwolf, so massive a monster to anyone else, gave a low, pleased yip as she scratched behind his ears. 

She returned to the camp and wended her way to her apartments, her tent having been pitched just beside the Lord’s tent in the midst of the camp. Sansa paused, looking between the set of twin tents, before she was pushing through.

Jon turned slowly to face her, overcome with words that might excuse his behavior in the woods. Heat coursed through their bones so strongly that it was nearly palpable, laying thick in the air like fog. Sansa’s lips parted in words she does not say, and though she did not speak he can see that she felt it too. 

She approached him and stood before his chair, the hem of her gown clutched tight as she lifts it free from her ankles. It’s almost a challenge, the way her lissom frame stands before his chair, a hand raising to lay upon his shoulder, so that he could finer the thick material between her fingers. 

“Sansa.” he said. His voice was gravelly and deep, and there was a warning in his tone that made her stomach tighten. Her hands lifted as she ran her fingers through his hair, her fingers winding through his dark curls and scraping gently against his scalp as she lifted his head to look over her. “You ought to be sleeping.” 

She could feel the whisper of his hand at her back as he reached for her before pulling away, his eyes blinking closed in peace as she brushed her fingers fondly across his cheek. “I couldn't possibly." she countered. "I’m much too awake.” 

She could see the lump in Jon’s throat bob as he swallowed hard. “Perhaps you ought try harder, Sansa.” he said. 

Sansa shrunk back, stung. She took in the sight of him, how he refused to meet her eye, how his hunched shoulders sagged in shame, how his hands gripped the arms of his chair so tightly that he could have splintered the wood. 

She took a step backward, cheeks reddened. She was headed toward the tent’s entrance when the feeling of his hands on her hips stalled her. Jon stood close at her back, nosing at her crimson hair as he whispered against the shell of her ear. 

His breath was hot enough to make goosepimples raise across her arms. “It would be better for us both if you could…just sleep.” he said, taking in the scent of lavender and lemons and the sweet scent of her unperfumed skin. 

The smell of the spiced wine on his breath filled her nose and made her feel drunk from smell and touch and drink and just him. She lolled her head to the side, exposing the column of her neck where his lips had left a small welt. “Perhaps you know a way to rid myself of this energy.” said she. She pressed her weight against him, rolling her hips backwards so that he let out a soft, sighing moan. “A way to make myself sleep.” 

Jon’s lips fluttered over her throat. He was breathing heavily, his hands skating down the length of her arms. He was standing so undeniably close that she could almost hear the pounding of his coursing blood. 

“Do you really want to know?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. 

She turned in his arms until he faced her. Her hands wound around his slim middle and slid beneath his leather jerkin, feeling the firm bunch of muscle beneath her palms jerk as her icy touch met his bare skin. 

It was as though he had been set alight, as though every nerve in his body was suddenly singing. He could hear blood rush passed his ears, smell her sweet breath, so close that he could almost taste it. All at once the urge was too much to overcome, for even if he were more man than wolf, the wolf was certainly in control now. 

Above all things Jon was firm. The firm curves of hard, sinewy muscle that bunched beneath her smooth palms; his firm fingers, now callused from so many years swinging a sword; firm lips that arced against her neck as he leaned his lady back into his arms. 

His voice remained firm, even as he whispered sweet words to her in the soft darkness, with his firm body pressed flush against hers. He was hungry, barely leashing back the desire that threatened to overcome his restraint and engulf them both. 

But there was softness to him, too. He was feather-light as he kissed her, his lips tinged with longing and loneliness and a faint spice she cannot name from the wine on his tongue.His fingers carded through her hair, somehow remarking to his befuddled brain that her hair was smooth as strands of red silk as they flipped through his fingers. 

There was something on his tongue that he thought was blood and it was only when he pulled away in surprise and found her eyes hungry and her chest heaving that he realized he was not the only wolf in the room. 

It invigorated him, to see her standing there in breathless fervor, as overcome with lust and desire as he, and it made him want to pull her back into his arms and kiss her sweet lips until they were bruised. But most of all, it made him hard. 

Silence stretched between them, in which they could only stare into each others faces, all red lips and red cheeks and rushing, red blood. 

Jon could only watch as she moved, fingers looping through the laces of her cloak until it fell to the ground at her ankles. He fell heavily against the lip of his desk, hearing an inkwell tip over onto a half-written curl of parchment he had spent a quarter hour drafting but no longer cared about. 

He could only stare, watching as Sansa’s long fingers worked at the laces of her gown, her eyes never leaving his as she pulled free the strings from the lapels of her bodice. The soft pearl buttons of her dress came loose from the fabric with difficulty and before she could even bid he do so he had taken a step toward her. 

His fingers were deft and quick, making easy work of removing the subsuming gown. His head bent for a moment, allowing his lips to press to the pulse point at her throat, where he could feel her hum slightly in response, her body sagging back against his so that his hips met the cradle of hers. 

Jon was overcome by the smell of her, the lemons and the honey and the sweet floral perfumes she had bathed in. It was intoxicating to be so near her, even more so to watch her. She had slid off her satin slippers when she had walked forward, turning toward the leather stool to prop up her foot so that she could languidly unroll her stockings from where they had been clipped at her thighs. 

The fingers that had been so sure upon her gown became suddenly clumsy as he turned them upon himself, fingers frantic as he pulled at the laces of his cloak. She stilled him as she laid her hands upon his and took over the task, undoing the laces of his surcoat without hurry until he felt the fabric fall away. 

They took their time as they undressed each other, languid and slow and without rush, savoring in the slow reveal. They might as well have stood on the ends of the earth for all the attention they paid to the sleeping camp around them. But with Ghost standing sentry at the tent's entrance- and Tormund sleeping in the tent just beside- they need not worry about any of them. 

He undid the laces at the waist of her thin cotton shift and pulled it over her head, watching the small bounce of each pale, pert breast, rosy nipples pebbled at once from exposure to such cold air. Jon laid a kiss within the cavern of her breasts, the skin he nosed at smooth and soft as fresh silk. 

Finally divested of her Northern gown, Sansa shivered as the cold air kissed her skin. She preened before the fire in a relaxed stretch and Jon was able to see clear through the semi-sheer fabric of her slip; every plain of her body, every curve that had developed since his years away at the Wall. 

He ached to devour her, to press his face to her skin and taste her, the languid slowness of his movements enjoyable agony as he wished simultaneously that he were able to draw out their pleasure yet still seeking a release to the throbbing at the base of his thighs. 

There was a scar on her shoulder and it made his eyes burn to see that it was about the width of a blade, though the flesh had already mottled and silvered with age. He would have given anything to turn back time and kill the man who had done so to her. 

Jon pressed his lips to the scar and felt her shiver, rolling back her shoulders so that his lips could further press to her. His lips found her neck, drawn to the flesh as a moth lured by flame. With a surge of pleasure he realized that his earlier kiss had left its mark, the pale flesh stippled pink from the pressure of his touch. 

Jon turned her in his arms until she faced him and, with great enthusiasm, he claimed her mouth. The desire he had so long caged surged forward, enlivened by the way she pressed her body flush against his so that every inch of her body could be felt.

His hips leaned forward, falling into the cradle of hers as though he were already pushing into her. She could feel the unburdened weight of his body as he allowed himself to lean into her arms, strong and steady and lethal to an enemy, though his touch upon her body was nothing above tender. 

His mouth followed the path she had laid for him, following the curve of her neck and down to her shoulders before continuing down to leave a thread of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the length of her arms. 

He kneeled before her, watching as she trembled with delectation as his tongue ran across her belly, going over the circle of her navel before endeavoring to her hips. So many years of hefting grain sacks at the Wall had strengthened him enough to lift her without trouble, laying her easily across the rumpled furs of his bed. 

Her hair fanned out beneath her, silk against fur, red as the lips that sought his. Sansa’s hands were cold upon his bare shoulders, feeling the sinew of his tight muscle as it contracted beneath her palms. She slid her hands across the thatch of dark curls at the spire of his chest but soon replaced her lips upon the path her fingers had laid and continued their path. 

The unrelenting heat of arousal slid through him like a coiling serpent before settling in his belly and deepening. He gasped in surprise and pleasure as Sansa's teeth bit down upon the muscle of his chest, her tongue hot as flame as it laved across his skin. He groaned in pleasure, feeling her long nails dragging down the length of his bare hip, so close to his aching cock that he could have spent right there. 

Jon kissed her again and claimed her mouth with all the vehemence and ferocity of the wolf he was, and when Sansa moaned into his mouth his own moans seemed to swallow the sound. Her thighs had parted so that he could lay between them, and her long, pale legs lifted to bracket his hips.

Her breath was hot against the slope of his neck, gooseflesh rising on his arms. Jon was overcome by the yearning urge for the woman in his arms; somehow both desperate to have her and desperate to prolong the experience. But he knew how he had imagined it, of all the places he had thought to kiss her, all the ways he had thought to give her pleasure, and pushed any thoughts of rush from his mind at once.

For so long the desire that stretched between them had been nearly palpable, plainly visible in every heated glance and every lingering touch, from even the first moments the gate at Castle Black had opened and she had stepped through. All at once, when she had stood before him in the Lord's tent, so many months of caged appetency had come rushing forward, blatant enough to hit him like a blow. 

Jon brushed his thumb across her bottom lip and in an act that nearly left him trembling, her tongue ran out to brush against his finger before drawing it completely into her mouth.

A thrill ran through him at the sight of her, her lips parted as his fingers slipped into her mouth, her bare shoulders shining silver-gold in the moonlight that slanted in through the thin cotton tent above. The moan that escaped him was gruff and carnal, more animal than man, and the sound seemed to pierce right through her.

He could feel heat rush through his body from head to foot before pooling at the base of smalls and he wondered what she must think of him, cock pressed to her belly, fingers exploring the same caverns of his mouth that her tongue once had.

Her cheeks puckered as she took a long breath, her tongue dragging down the length of his fingers before moving down to press a set of soft kisses against the skin of his callused palms. His hips jumped forward of their own accord and a shiver ran through her at the contact of him against her belly. 

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to have you." Jon said, unsure why.

Her warm tongue drew down the length of his jaw before finding his lips. In the midst of so much passion and lust, Sansa managed to kiss him so sweetly and tenderly that he was reminded of the way her mother had once kissed his Lord father. 

"I've wanted you too, Jon." she said. The words made an innocent blush flare upon her cheeks, as though Jon was nestled between her thighs with his cock against her. "For so long."

The words made him whisper a curse; half pleasured groan, half desperate whine. "I should have seen." he whispered. "I should have known."

"You know now." she replied. "We have all the time in the world to..."

Sansa trailed off, suddenly unable to keep her lips from seeking his out, even if just to finish the thought. Her mouth was hungry as she found his, the mark her tongue made across his bottom lip burning as though it were made of pure flame.

Jon's fingers grazed her skin, skating down the curve of her back until he could pull her close, tight enough to him that his mouth began to ache with the pressure of her lips. By the time he finally pushed into her he felt as though hours had passed, though the moonlight that still shone through the tent had yet to fade. 

Sansa gasped at the feeling of him, her nails sinking into the skin of his back as she cried out in pleasure at the surprise. She didn't seem to mind the heaviness of his body as it laid upon hers, preening against him like a cat basking in the sun. 

Jon knew he was growing too wild, too unrestrained. Perhaps he was hurting her. Perhaps they should stop. But she uttered no such complaints, only drawing him nearer. Her head fell back against the feather pillows, lolled back in pleasure, her eyes pressed closed in ecstasy.

It was near torment not to lay her down and fuck her until they were both boneless and sore and sated in more ways than one. Sansa’s cheeks were dark, though her eyes held not a trace of timidity within them, the way she lolled her head back and lifted her hips for him showing nothing but boldness and want.

Her belly was pressed so firmly against his that he could feel every trembling breath she took. Jon draped her leg across his hip, her heel finding purchase against his back, and the careful balance of their position made her face contort in enough pleasure to drive Jon mad just with the sight of her.

Sansa hummed his name, her hips rolling against his, urged forward by the pressure of his hand upon the curve of her back. They moved together in the way they had for so many months, of one mind and one thought. 

Jon pulled her flush against him, two wolves seeking each other in the darkness. His breath fanned across her neck, her palms pressed to his back so that she could feel every coil of taut muscle as is threshed beneath her fingers. Jon could feel the warm breath that roiled through her breathless body, feel every curl of her toes against the backs of his legs. He could even hear every soft moan pulled from her parted lips, sweeter than any song.

He could feel pleasure bubbling within, every fibre of his body pulling so spectacularly tight that it was as though he might just snap. Sansa's teeth nipped at the lobe of his ear, whispering things that made him shiver with the barely caged temptation of carrying them out.

She let out a sharp gasp and Jon felt the clench of her body beneath his, telling of her own impending peak, and if Jon had not been near his own release the sound of Sansa’s sweet moans against the shell of his ear would have brought him howling to it. 

Her teeth dug into his bottom lip to stifle her cry as the knot in her belly tightened inexorably before springing suddenly free. 

Jon was loathe to last more a few moments longer, the bucking of Sansa’s hips wild as she writhed against him. The wolf within him had come completely unbound, finally free to take part in the pleasure that so greatly enveloped them and he held her tight as his hips twitched, once, twice, almost more than he could bear. 

Sansa could feel the orgasm charge through him, a twinge that rushed through every taut muscle, every raw nerve, every fibre of his very being. The way he moaned made her stomach tighten, the heat at the base of her thighs growing tenfold.

The envelopment of her arms, the cage of her legs around him, the way her head arced back against the furs, and he was drawn over the edge with a simple thrust, not caring whether their moans could be heard from here to the Capitol. 

Warmth lapped at her exposed skin as she laid her head upon Jon's exposed chest. Their bodies heaved, breathless and fatigued from so great an exertion, and it became difficult to keep his eyes open. He blinked back sleep, feeling her lips pressing a set of soft kisses to the concave of his chest, her fingers running absently across the set of tapered scars resting there. 

"Sansa." he breathed. Half of him felt as though this were a dream, as though the woman in his arms was a figment of his imagination and not truly before him. 

As though sensing his fear, she kissed his temple softly, nosing at his dark curls. She laid her head back down, too fatigued even to lift her head and seek his lips, though it was all she could think of. 

Draped in the reddish-gold of the gathering dusk and the glow of amatory sweat, Sansa seemed to radiate warmth. His eyes swept across the plains of her face, down the column of her bare neck to the swell of her chest, hidden beneath the furs he had drawn across their half-shivering bodies. 

When she settled back into his arms Jon found that he had no desire to rise and dress, no desire to break his fast and take his letters and attend his duties. He cared only for the woman in his arms, who, by the soft rise and fall of her chest and evenness of her breath, had fallen rapidly into sleep. 

"Sleep well, sweet girl." he whispered, kissing her softly. 

Jon need not receive the blessing in return for he knew he would battle no nightmares tonight, not when he was in the arms of his woman. 


End file.
